Fig. 10.
In the centre is the sanctuary of Apollo denoted by two tripods, the laurel tree, the omphalos covered with a netting, and the altar. To the latter, already dashed with blood, Neoptolemos, ΝΕΟΠΤΟΛΕΜΟΣ, has fled. He holds a drawn sword in his right hand and whirls his chlamys about his left. He wears a petasos and has a sword-cut in his left side from which blood is oozing. His face is turned towards the omphalos behind which Orestes, ΟΡΕΣΤΑΣ, appears to be dodging. He has a chlamys and a pilos; in his left hand the sheath of a sword, the latter being in his right. On the left, behind the altar, is another youth, nude except the chlamys on the left arm. He holds a spear in the right hand as though about to cast it at Neoptolemos. The centre of the upper section is filled out with an Ionic temple, the doors of which are open. On the left, the half-figure of a woman, recognizable by the key as the temple priestess (κλῃδοῦχος)[[166]], appears in great alarm. Apollo, ΑΠΟΛΛΩΝ, with his bow, occupies a seat on the right of the temple[[167]].
In order to understand the painting it is necessary to bear in mind what preceded the speech of the messenger. Andromache, the wife of Hektor, had fallen to the lot of Neoptolemos on the division of the Trojan spoils and had been taken by him to Phthia. As his captive she had raised him a son, Molossos, while his lawful wife Hermione, daughter of Menelaos and cousin of Orestes, continued barren. Hermione, being suspicious that it was through some drugs of Andromache that she had been rendered thus unhappy, determined upon the latter’s death, and while Neoptolemos was absent at Delphi to atone for certain family wrongs the desperate Hermione proceeded to carry out her resolve to destroy both the mother and the young Molossos. This spiteful work of the injured wife occupies the first part of the tragedy. The two are finally saved by the intervention of the aged Peleus, and Hermione thereupon resolves to kill herself. At this point, Orestes, who is on his way to consult the oracle at Dodona, enters. On learning of the insults and injuries that had been heaped upon Hermione, once promised him for a bride, he at once undertakes to relieve her of any reason for dreading the return of Neoptolemos and the attendant disclosure of her wicked plans.
He leaves accordingly for Delphi. The messenger comes in after a song by the chorus and relates what has taken place. Orestes had gone round putting the Delphians on their guard against this Neoptolemos whose plan was to sack the temple. Credence was at once given to the fabrication, and the inhabitants determined upon a bold step. When Neoptolemos was at the altar addressing the god, the band of armed Delphians who were lying in wait for him behind the sacred laurel tree sprang out and fell upon him.
This furnishes the setting for our painting, and we may turn for a little to a closer examination of the account given by the poet. It will be noticed that the artist, while in some respects keeping close to the latter, has in the main done his work rather independently. Common to both are the δάφνη (v. 1115) and the βωμός (vs. 1123 and 1138). The attacking party in the painting includes Orestes, thus emphasizing the point which Euripides really had in mind. In this particular the artist has gone ahead of the poet. It appears, indeed, as though Orestes had just made the slash in Neoptolemos’ side. The moment represented is, therefore, that when the fight was on. The Delphians appear to have but one representative, who is certainly creating far less annoyance for Neoptolemos than does the company in Euripides, where they hurl rocks and fill the air with dust and din. The setting of the scene in the painting is magnificent. Everything points to the great shrine; both the exterior and interior of the temple are visible. As for the Ionic order it should be remembered that this has nought to do with the historic facts in the case. An examination of the buildings on the vases of Lower Italy reveals a decided preference on the part of the artists for this order of architecture[[168]]. The painting is an excellent example of the influence of the poet over the artist. This is, however, no mere illustration, a fact to be remembered in dealing with all the paintings of this class; the spirit and not the letter is what one can trace most readily in works of art based upon the tragedians. The agreement between the literary source and the picture is more apparent here than in most instances, and this is largely due to the fact that the Andromache is particularly Euripidean. This turn does not occur in any other author. A parallel case will be observed in the chapter dealing with Iphigeneia among the Taurians. It is this alteration and extension of old myths which characterizes Euripides’ work. These new features were popular and attracted the public, and here one gets the key to the unparalleled influence which this poet exercised upon artists.
§ 3. Bakchai.
Euripides’ Bakchai is our chief authority concerning the fate of Pentheus[[169]], yet this writer did not by any means establish the details of the story. This was done long before Thespis may have assayed to dramatize the tragic episode[[170]] and before Aischylos wrote his Pentheus[[171]]. It is not probable that Euripides materially altered the accepted form of the myth, and there may be in his play a mixture of the traditional and Aischylean versions. Pentheus’ death, like the madness of the Thracian king Lykurgos, was inseparably connected with the advent of the Dionysiac worship. The series of victories won by the orgiastic god from the wild North was not bloodless; his coming was attended with opposition. In the end, however, his foes were annihilated or ruined, and the new joy brought in by the foreign god captivated a nation and made it his devout worshipper. Euripides could say little or nothing new touching the triumph of Dionysos over the king of Thebes, yet this tragedy, one of the most brilliant pieces of Greek literature, paints in glorious colours the history of the victory.
The events, as told by Euripides, are briefly as follows. Dionysos has arrived in Thebes from Lydia and the East, where he had already established his choirs of Bacchanals. Thebes was the first city to which he came, and here, where he least expected opposition, scepticism met him. The sisters of his mother Semele circulated the report that he was no god but an impostor. He forthwith drove the Kadmeian women maddened from their homes to wander in the mountains attired in the Dionysiac dress; the Bacchic craze spread further, and seized even the seer Teiresias and Kadmos, who with thyrsoi and fawn-skins joined the orgies. Pentheus, on hearing of these strange doings, appears and chides them both, and threatens to hunt the women from the mountains and punish the stranger who has made his family drunk with frenzy. At v. 434 Dionysos, bewitchingly beautiful, is led a prisoner before Pentheus, who orders him to be bound and cast into the royal stable. Soon afterward the walls are heard to crash in and flames burst forth in every direction (v. 593 ff.). The god, to be sure, is safe, and Pentheus is mocked and wild with anger, while the former bids him be quiet and subdue his anger. At this point a messenger arrives to recount the strange sights that had met his eyes on the mountains. Three bands of women, led by Autonoë, Agave, and Ino, had rushed upon his herd of cattle and torn them limb from limb, and afterward they washed the blood from their hands in a fountain made to flow by the god. In the face of these wonders he urges Pentheus to honour the latter, but the king will not brook this Bacchic insolence and threatens to sacrifice a hekatomb of women on Kithairon rather than propitiate the unwelcome visitor. Dionysos advises him not to kick against the pricks (v. 795); in a moment Pentheus’ attitude is seen to change; the secret power of the god is working on him; he will see the strange actions himself, and would rather forfeit a thousand-weight in gold than forgo the opportunity (v. 812). The linen chiton is at once provided, and Dionysos, who is to lead the way, directs the arrangement of the dress so that Pentheus shall not be mistaken for a man. After some scruples as to the figure he may make before his citizens he is anxious to be off. Once in the mountains giddiness comes upon him. He sees two suns, and a double Thebes, and twice seven gates; he declares that the god himself has taken on a bull’s form with horns (v. 918 ff.). Immediately thereafter he obtains the first glimpse of the women. There are Ino and his mother Agave. Then he worries lest he may not hold his thyrsos correctly. This shows his sad predicament too plainly. Dionysos has done his work; his vengeance on the recalcitrant Pentheus is at hand. At first the latter feels himself able to overturn the whole mountain and asks the advice of the god as to the best means of annihilating the troop. When violence is not recommended he suggests that he had best hide in a pine-tree to view the sight (v. 954). Nothing further is ever heard from the king’s own lips except in his death-cry reported by the messenger who had accompanied him. When they had reached the band in the glen, shadowed by pines (πεύκη, v. 1052), the thicket was so dense that Pentheus requested that he might be allowed to ascend the bank or climb a tree (v. 1061) in order to command the field. Dionysos bent a tree to the ground, placed the king upon the boughs and allowed it to rise again, and, turning to his devotees, pointed to their prey. Stones and darts are directed at Pentheus, and finally the tree is pulled up by main force and he falls an easy victim to the maddened women. Agave, heeding none of his cries, tears out a shoulder; Ino, Autonoë, and the rest help in dismembering the king. His mother fixed his head upon a thyrsos and led the troop on a wild dance over Kithairon, finally coming to the palace. Gradually freed from the insanity, she realized the enormity of her crime. Dionysos’ godhead was, however, established, and the house of Kadmos remained a terrible witness of his power. These are the harrowing details of the murder, and one cannot wonder that there are numerous vase paintings based on the tragedy.
There is a long list of vases that can for the most part be passed over with a mere reference. They are all, with perhaps one exception, later than 500 B.C. This means that the impetus for the tragedy in art was given largely by the tragic drama. The oldest painting is older than the Pentheus of Aischylos and cannot, therefore, be connected with his play. There may have been an earlier dramatization, such as that recorded of Thespis, which figured in this monument[[172]]. All the remaining paintings belong to the latter part of the fifth century B.C. and the fourth century B.C., and are, with one exception, of too general a character to be used as evidence for one of the tragedies[[173]]. On the Munich hydria it seems to me there are clear traces of the Bakchai, and this widely-known work is given here in fig. 11[[174]].